


The Letters of Haytham Kenway

by Squid_Ink



Series: The Eagle and the Cross [12]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: 500 Letters by Tarja, Achilles tell the poor boy his mother is dead, Damn it!, F/M, Poor Connor, Poor Haytham, Spooky, Tarja - Freeform, a squeal is being developed, assassin!Ziio, is Haytham alive or dead, oh Shay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-17 13:15:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5871013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squid_Ink/pseuds/Squid_Ink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ziio killed him, she watched him die and felt his life's blood stain her hands. The father of her son, the man that stole her heart... yet why did she still get letters and why were they signed at the bottom: Haytham Kenway. A bigger question dawns, is Haytham Kenway still alive?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act I

Haytham Kenway was dead.

Killed by her own hand.

Then why were letters with his handwriting and his signature at the bottom, still coming to her. Ziio swallowed as she stared at the letter in her hand, it was one of several dozen that had mysteriously arrived on Achilles doorstep. Ziio read it. She read it several times. It's flowery language moved her heart, remembering the days she spent with the man as he used his quick wit and honey-tongued to lure her into a sense of comfort.

Of course, that had been a mistaken. He was the enemy, a man on the wrong side of ideology. Being around him was dangerous, yet Ziio found such danger intoxicatingly seducing. He was handsome, with strong shoulders and jaw. His English was accented, unlike the English of the colonists born here, and his voice was a velvety baritone that made her shiver.

For Ziio, Haytham's strong hands drew her the most; hands of a killer, which would lightly trace up her arms, as he would whisper dangerously sweet things into her ear, his lips ghosting along the curve of her neck.

Ziio know that her desire for Haytham Kenway was forbidden, he was a Templar, the Grand Master of the Colonial Rite, while she was an assassin, one of two; all that remained of the Colonial Brotherhood. "Another letter?" a wheezy voice asked. Ziio looked up, to stare at the only other assassin in North America.

"Achilles, where's Ratonhnhaké:ton?" Ziio asked, not bothering to answer Achilles' question. She also wondered where her son was. She tried not to think about the fact that his father was a Templar, that he carried Templar blood in his veins. If she could have her way Ratonhnhaké:ton, would never dawn the white hood and red sash of the Brotherhood, yet that hope was shattered four years ago when her village burned, and they barely escaped with their lives.

"He's out playing," Achilles said. Ziio nodded. "Who keeps sending those letters?"

"The writer signs his name _Haytham Kenway_ ," Ziio said.

"You killed him though," Achilles pointed out as he leaned on his cane, "or did you?" the old man stared at Ziio. The Mohawk woman scowled.

"Are you implying that I'd leave that bastard alive? That I risk our Brotherhood, my son's life to allow some naïvely foolish fantasy to stay my hand?"

"Now, Ziio—"

"No, you are a fool, Achilles. Haytham Kenway _is_ dead! I felt him die as I plunged my hidden blade into his throat, watched as the light of life fade from his eyes, dying with my name on his lips!" Ziio spat, eyes hard and breathing elevated. "He loved me to the very end."

"He had to die, Ziio. He's a Templar."

"Don't you think I know that?" Ziio replied heatedly. She stood up, chair scraping away from the desk. She grabbed the bracers that contained her hidden blades and slipped them on, before she began to put on her white leather assassin robes, decorated with beaded eagles.

"Where are you going?" Achilles asked.

"Out, make sure Ratonhnhaké:ton, gets to bed on time," Ziio said as she drew up her hood, grabbed her tomahawk and left the house.

* * *

The silver of moonlight that peeked through the trees was all the light she needed. It was a chill wind for a summer evening, but it suited her find, since it's scent was crisp and fresh. A promise of rain lingered on the tip of her tongue, as she waited in the branches of an old oak tree. The letter writer said to meet near an abandon graveyard. The abandon village was only a few miles east. Ziio watched and waited. She saw a shadowy figure appear out of the darkness; a man, with a tricorner hat upon his head.

Ziio unsheathed her hidden blade and inched closer to the edge of the branch she was perched on. The man turned, the moonlight catching his back and illuminating the silver embroidery on his cape, the pattern was the same one Haytham had. Her blood ran chill in her veins, it couldn't be. Haytham Kenway was dead. She remembered killing him, feeling his hot blood splash her hands and face as she did the grizzly deed, the last lingering touch of his fingertips upon her cheek as he took his last gurgling breath.

"I know you're here," the man said in the voice that haunted her dreams, "Ziio."

She closed her eyes, taking a steadying breath and waited for him to walk pass the branch she was perched on, before she jumped down, landing silently beside him. She closed the gap quickly, pressing her blade against his side. "Don't move," she growled.

"Such hostility," the man said. "I'd figured you'd be happy to see me."

"Haytham Kenway _is_ dead!" Ziio hissed.

"Hmph." Ziio heard the smirk in that tone. "That's what _you_ think. The assassins have always been blind in the darkness."

Ziio growled, and pressed her blade in just a bit until she heard the man hiss. _Good! He's mortal, he'll bleed, and he can die._ Ziio thought pulling the tip of her blade out of his side.

"You shouldn't've done that Ziio," Haytham's imposter said. Ziio didn't have time to process it before he danced out of her reach and came up behind her, pinning her arms to her side. An owl hooted somewhere in the darkness, a sigh of the wind caused the leaves to rustle and Haytham's hauntingly familiar scent washed over her.

He let go of one arm to tug her hood away. "Who are you?" Ziio asked as she felt her face be revealed. He traced a fingertip along the curve of her neck and down the slope of he shoulder, she heard a soft _snick_ and felt the sharp edge of his hidden blade press along her arm. She shuddered, heart pounding as she felt his fingers run tantalizing up and down her one arm, his hidden blade trailing along the other.

"I'm sure you've figured out who I am by now, Ziio," the imposter sad. Ziio felt him press his nose against her hair, inhaling deeply. "By god I missed you," he breathed before pressing a sensual kiss to the back of her neck. "If only things could have been different."

"Yes," Ziio said, giving in and leaning against him. She wanted him so badly, missed him so badly. The forbidden fruit always tasted better. "If only," she agreed.

"Pity you're an assassin," the man whispered.

"Just for one night, let's pretend we aren't," Ziio breathed. She didn't care if this man wasn't Haytham or was Haytham, tonight he'll be Haytham Kenway, the father of her son.

"Are you sure? I'm a Templar remember," he whispered, lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "I'm dangerous."

Ziio shuddered, wanting to drown in the maelstrom of contradictions that was Haytham Kenway. "So are assassins," Ziio replied.

"Touché," the man agreed. Ziio chuckled to herself, before turning around and pressed her lips against his. She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to look upon his face afraid it'll break the spell. He returned the kiss just as hungrily as she had bestowed it upon him. She slipped her tongue into his mouth, coaxing a moan to rumble out of his throat as his hands gripped her hips, pulling her lithe and deadly body close.

She should do it now. Plunge her hidden dagger into his heart and be rid of this imposter and Haytham Kenway's memory once and for all. She didn't though, something stayed her hand; she chalked it up to her naïveté. She pulled away, pressing her forehead against his, keeping her eyes close, she trailed her fingers along his face. "Haytham," she breathed, before crushing her lips against his again.

* * *

Ziio found herself in the graveyard the next morning, with only vague memories of how she got there. The man she was with that night had vanished, leaving only a red ribbon behind in his place. She touched it, picked it up before inhaling the scent that still clung to the ribbon. It smelled familiar, like him. Closing her eyes, she shook her head. Haytham Kenway was dead. She undid a braid, only to redo it, weaving the red ribbon into it.

She ventured into Boston that day, determined to find the mysterious man that had visited her in the graveyard last night. First, she had to find a Templar, which was easy enough. She knew one by sight already, a drunkard by the name of Hickey. She even knew what tavern he frequented. It was in that tavern, she waited. She watched them come in one by one. A man she had seen around her tribe before Haytham came to this new world, a nervous deceitful man, a military man, one with a dog, and finally… their leader.

Ziio gasped.


	2. Act II

"Ista! Ista! Ista!" the little boy called, trudging through the snow. He hadn't seen his mother in over a month, she never came back from her trip into Boston. She left because of some mysterious letters. "Ista!" he called again, following the footprints. He knew he shouldn't be out this far in the forest, but he thought he saw his mother in the trees and he followed her. "Ista, where are you!" he shouted, looking around the forest. Night had set in, the forest dark and spooky with the wind howling about him and whipping up the snow creating a haze of pale grey. He pulled his bear pelt cloak around him tighter. "Ista!" he shouted again.

A growl rumbled somewhere, yellow eyes aglow in the darkness and the boy's breath caught in his throat as more glowing yellow eyes appeared followed by a mournful howl that echoed through the trees. Wolves. The boy turned, intent on going back, but the wind and snow had covered the tracks. Lost, the boy ran forward, hoping he could find a low branch to climb and seek succor in the trees. His tears froze onto his cheeks, he just wanted his mother.

He charged through the forest, trying to outpace the wolves, but the beasts where herding him towards a prime location for striking. The deep snow hid rocks and roots, pitfalls that he would normally avoid; a root caught his foot and he went tumbling into the snow. A jagged rock cut him along his cheek, leaving a bloody gash. The pristine snow suddenly fouled with drops of scarlet. The boy rolled onto his back as he heard the lead wolf snarled; materializing out of the darkness with a pounce, salvia dripping from yellow fangs aimed for his throat. The boy gasped and squeezed his eyes shut, a final desperate call to his mother tumbling from his lips.

* * *

_One month earlier_

Ziio gasped, her eyes widening at the sight of the leader. She'd recognized Haytham Kenway anywhere. Outwardly calm, Ziio stood and walked out of the tavern. She would need to send a bird to the Homestead and inform Achilles that she would not be returning any time soon, having to take care of unfinished business. She flicked her wrists, finding comfort in the familiar snick of her hidden blades unsheathing. She stared at the gleaming steel of the blades, before she retracted them, and vanishing into the crowd. She had left a note on her table, she knew he'd find it and tonight, she'll confront him.

She waited in the same graveyard she met him last night, though she stalked him from the trees. "Ziio? Ziio, where are you?" he called, walking through the rows of headstones. "Ziio, this isn't funny!"

 _No, of course not. You were supposed to be dead you bastard!_ Ziio thought angrily, following him from her perch in the trees. She stopped, waiting, hands loosely holding the branch for support. He walked beneath her and she smirked before leaping down. She flicked her wrist, hidden blade snicking out as she fell. She grabbed his shoulder, but he had expected her attack, and spun around, meeting her hidden blade with his own. She snarled, lashing out with her other one, which he countered with his other hidden blade as well.

She disengaged him. She didn't want to kill him again just yet, first she wanted answers. "Who are you?" she asked.

"Is he my son?" the man asked. Ziio scowled, but knew he'd ask that question. It had been the message she used to lure him. "Ziio, tell me true, is he my son?"

Ziio stared at him; the desperate look on his face would have been heartbreaking if she hadn't steeled herself for this moment. They had been in love once, so maddenly deeply in love and they felt that their love could bridge the gap between Templar and Assassin, create a true peace and…

Shay Patrick Cormac had destroyed all those dreams, him and his blinding revenge against the Brotherhood and his near successful annihilation of the Colonial Brotherhood. Achilles had sent her to her tribe upon finding out she was pregnant, sparing her and Ratonhnhaké:ton's life. Sometimes she wished she had been there to stop the horror Shay had wrought and sometimes she wondered if Haytham was by Shay's side as he cut down those he once called his brothers and sisters. "Is Shay Patrick Cormac still alive?" Ziio asked.

The man blanched before letting out a sigh. "Ziio, I understand you—"

"No, you don't understand! You never have been betrayed by someone you thought was a friend so—"

"Don't you dare presume you know my past! What I have or have not lived through!" the man shouted. "I understand perfectly well what feelings you feel towards Shay. I know the pain all too well." He looked away. "It hits all too close to home."

The last part she barely heard and he refused to make eye contact. Ziio sighed through her nose, willing herself to calm down. "His name is Ratonhnhaké:ton," she finally said.

"Pardon?" the man looked at her, puzzlement in her grey eyes.

"Your son," she said, "his name is Ratonhnhaké:ton."

"Ra-doon-gay-doon?" the man stumbled over the name. Ziio chuckled, remembering the time they first met and his butchering of her own name. "I'm sorry, is there something easier to call him? A nickname?"

"Connor," Ziio said. "Now, are you really Haytham Kenway?"

"I am," he said with a twitch of his lips. "The first words you ever said to me were 'Are you touched in the head?'"

"I thought… I thought I killed you," Ziio said. Her hands started shaking as she reached for him. Why did she have to be weak in such a moment? Where was all the anger and hurt she felt moments ago? Gone. Simply gone. She was a naïve fool, blinded by love and when she touched Haytham's cheek, she didn't care. He was alive and real as ever and surely, the spirits could give her one moment of bliss, just a slice of happiness is all she asks for. "How… how did you survive?"

"Lee found a body double. He knew the assassins were after my neck," Haytham whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. Ziio chuckled and sobbed, the sound a strange mix of the two. "You killed a man whose name I don't even remember."

"Haytham…" she whispered.

"I'm sorry Ziio, I thought it best if you thought me dead. I couldn't risk the others finding out and coming after you. I got word that you were pregnant from one of Johnson's associates in your tribe and… I wanted to come see you," he whispered, cupping her cheek and smoothing away a tear. She leaned into his touch.

"No, it was best that you stayed away," Ziio whispered. She placed her hand on his chest, she could feel his heart beating beneath her fingertips and instantly knew that despite how much she wanted it, she would have to kill him. "I'm—" she never finished the thought. Blood bubbled forth from her mouth, as a blade slid into her back, through the lung and into her heart. She stared at Haytham with accusing eyes, the last imaged seared into her brain was his shocked blood splattered face. She jerked once as the blade was removed from her back. She fell into Haytham's arms.

Haytham caught her, horror-struck and confused. He looked up from Ziio's dying form to see her killer. "Shay," he whispered, surprised that one of his most loyal subordinates was here. Shay flicked his hidden blade, droplets of Ziio's blood black in the moonlight. He retracted it with a snick. "Why Shay?" Haytham asked.

"She was going to kill you sir," Shay stated. "As much as she loved you, she couldn't forget you were a Templar and her enemy."

* * *

_Present_

Connor opened his eyes when he felt warm droplets upon his face. A man was standing before him, his forearm caught in the wolf's jaws and a circle of red at the animal's throat. He scuttled back until he hit a tree. His savoir shoved the dead wolf off, before turning to face him. "Wh-Who are you?" Connor asked, shaking as he sat in the cold snow. The man walked over, crouching before him.

"My name is Haytham Kenway," the man said, "And you are my son."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft
> 
> And… I guess there will be a part three or not. I mean poor Connor, getting attacked by wolves and having this strange man tell him he's his dad and his mother's missing. (Achilles you bastard tell the poor boy his mother is dead!)
> 
> I fudged the timelines. I know I did. :3 But I don't care!
> 
> Shay is Shay. Actually, this story is gonna spiral out of control. I already got an idea for Shay. The jerk. Okay, so here's how it goes with the Templars in my head.
> 
> Haytham – Boss man
> 
> Charles – assistant boss man
> 
> Shay – Haytham's loyal bodyguard and enforcer and borderline valet.
> 
> Hickey, Johnson, Church, Pitcairn – the minions.
> 
> Charles Lee kills puppies every time you don't review!
> 
> Save an author; leave a review!
> 
> Connor is around eight.

**Author's Note:**

> Assassin's Creed (c) Ubisoft
> 
> So? Is Haytham alive or dead? Undead? You decide!
> 
> I had the idea while listening to 500 Letters by Tarja, and I had this idea set in an AU where Ziio is an assassin, that what if she killed Haytham yet he still sent her love letters even after he's supposedly dead?  
> This is the product of that musing. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> How does Ziio know how to read? Well, she knows English and she is an assassin in this, I imagine when she went to get trained by Achilles (or whomever was Mentor before him in North America), she was taught how to read English.
> 
> A squeal is being requested, by popular demand (if you can't one person as being popular demand...) 
> 
> Every time you don't review Charles Lee kills a puppy. Think of Connor and the puppies! I mean, Connor will hate you forever if you let Charles Lee kill puppies!
> 
> Save an author; leave a review!


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